We went to the graves with flowers today;
bluebells, grape hyacinths, forget-me-nots.
A keen wind biting as we filled our jars,
rearranging our floral tributes with every gust.
Through April sounds of singing birds, I filter
sadness, suffocating and tangible as smog.
Warming sun and new green shoots
offer me no respite, no reason and no tears.
This place is still the fixed point in my world;
stubborn against newer roots and shiftings.
I leave, ambivalent as ever, she stays.
To leave is commission, brief but painful,
to stay, I guess, is long and deep remaining.
Diane Cadman retired from a career as an Occupational Therapist and lecturer in 2012. She is a mother and grandmother.
Since retiring she has shared her time between her family, playing folk fiddle, helping to launch a local environmental group, supporting an asylum seeker charity and sharing an allotment. She has developed a new interest in learning Latin, which she says is opening up a new and exiting window on poetry.
Diane was brought up in a close family where poetry was an integral part of daily life and so for her, is an essential part of the everyday. Her work reflects this and has evolved along with her interests and a Buddhist view of life.
She is currently working towards her first pamphlet for Pending Press.
Follow the link for a list of other Poems of the Month.
A Fixed Point © 2016 by Diane Cadman: used with permission.
Copyright of this poem remains with the poet: please do not download or republish without permission.